What a way to live!
by awoman
Summary: A child has to grow up with the Phantom's face in our days.
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer:**

1. I will perhaps use characters and aspects from stories by Leroux, Kay, Wilson, Meyer, Lloyd Webber, Hill . . . nevertheless, I do not own a character invented by one of them . . .

2. English is not my native language, so please help me improve my English when you review - and I hope you will.

3. Though I beg for reviews and hope you all will review, I beg you not to flame because of the religious aspect in this story. I will have a lot of religion in this Phic, since I am a religious person and I want to include some of my ambience, because the story does depend on it. I respect that you may not share my religious beliefs. I do respect that you may not want to read about something including religious thoughts. Leave then, please. Or write a Phic including your religious imprint. But please respect mine, as I am willing to respect yours. Thank you.

4. But for all that: I hope you will enjoy the story, it is the first for me to write . . .

Author's note:

I am so grateful for all your reviews. Special thanks to those who found and announced mistakes. Thank you again and do not stop to review, please! Besides: I am still in need of a beta-reader or two. . .

And last: Do not worry, it will not take long for Erik to enter!

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**What a way to live! **

**Chapter 1**

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**"What a way to live"**

That is what most of my friends said when I decided to join the protestant lutheran nunnery. For me, it was only the last step on the long way that I had gone since I was fourteen. Now I was thirty-one, a teacher for comprehensive secondary school, with a special graduation on rehabilitation and education for people with blindness and visual impairment; I had no husband or significant other, and I had always found myself at home in that special monastery. It was like finally coming home.

The convent had allowed me to hold my profession as supervision teacher for integrated children, but had not freed me from most of the normal duties of a canoness. One of them we fulfilled in turn was to keep the church open for tourists and people looking for a confessor on Saturday afternoons. I loved that duty dearly - I had brought my harp into the church long ago, and practising there was one of my favourite pastimes whenever I could.

One summer morning I came into the church through the cloister before dawn. It was going to be a very hot day, and so I opened the main door to let some air sweep through before the sun would warm it up too much.

I left the doors open - the town was small and hardly anyone would break into the empty church at such a time (and everybody here knew we were blank and there was nothing to steal here - who needed money would get more if he simply asked!) - when I decided to fetch some buns from the nearby bakery.

At my return I immediately noticed there was something wrong. The can for the alms (which was kept filled with little coins so it would feel as if there was money in it) was missing, and the box for the money from the postcard sale had been opened - not broken - and left empty. Silently I retreated the few steps to the door and . . . stopped abruptly when I heard the sound of my harp being randomly touched. As she was placed in a little chapel, I knew whoever tried to play on her could not see me or even hear me straightforwardly. The person would be completely trapped if she or he only stayed there long enough - the chapel had only one door that could be blocked by one person easily, and no windows that could be opened - and it was no more than three meters wide and six meters long! Smiling, I closed and locked the main entrance and silently made my way through the nave to the chapel.

Of course I never meant to harm whomever I would meet. The sounds coming from my harp were shy and sweet, like a child silently weeping, not as if the one who played could be dangerous or do any harm. I had found thieves in the church before, poor fellows who needed a meal, a bath, clothes and a bed - things we, that is the canonesses, willingly provided, or naughty children who needed a rebuke and a challenge, which we offered as well.

Nevertheless I was not prepared for the pitiable sight I was offered when I entered through the narrow door.

A small, childish figure, clad in dirty black rugs, let go of my harp (that fortunately did not overbalance) and frantically tried to hide behind or under one of the pews. What appalled me most was not the fact that he or she was a child, nor the alarm that was shown, but the wretched condition the person was obviously in. It let out a small whimper while rolling together into a tiny ball behind the pew, and though it tried to hide, I could see it tremble and the body jerk with every desperate gasp for breath. Why such a reaction? Was the child, and it obviously was a child, on drugs? Was it ill?

"Hey" I murmured softly, without leaving my position in the door frame. There was no reaction at all - except perhaps a try to curl up even tighter. "Now, what is wrong?" I went on as careful and soft as I could. "Why are you afraid? Come out there, child. You have done nothing wrong" (The money could wait!), "and nobody wants to do you harm!" No reaction. I thought a second about retreating into the nave, but that was no adequate option. The child looked like a trapped mouse, full in panic and not master of its senses. In its blind fear it would perhaps not work if I simply gave free its way, and to shoo it out could cause damage on my harp, on the interior of the church - and worst of all on the child. (I did not believe that this small child could cause damage on me - I was three times as wide at last, it would have been like a grasshopper causing damage to an elephant!)

Slowly I took a step into the direction of the child - what meant to corner it in even more, I knew, but I had no other idea. There was no possibility to slip through . . .

But I had overlooked another forceful possibility the child had.

The boyish figure jumped up, fast as lightning, and ducked behind my harp, clasping at the wooden column and resonancecorpus. The harp waggled. I took in a deep breath, made a small step forward and raised my hands in a gesture I meant to be pacifying. "It is OK, I do not mean to harm you" I said, but gesture and words only made the child grasp the harp more desperate - and the big instrument reel even more!

So I took two steps back to the door and lowered my hands again, taking an effort to calm down - not only from my worry about my beloved harp, but also from the astonishment I felt about the fact that the child wore a filthy white mask that covered the face from the hair line to the lower lip.

What could I do? I thought of saying: "There is no need to worry. Listen. I will leave now, go to the main door, unlock it, open it and then leave the church. I will not try to catch you or trap you somehow, and you may take the money you took with you."

Instead, I slowly moved into the next pew, sat down and said, giving my countenance and my voice a demonstrative relaxed style: "Now, as I said before, I will not harm you, there is no need to be frightened. I only wanted to see who made such beautiful music on my harp so early in the morning. I enjoyed once listening to her sound without producing it myself. Don't you want to play on a while?" That was, of course, very sheepish, but for some odd reason I did not want the boy to flee without knowing anything about him.

And against all my hopes, my words showed a positive effect, for though he did not let go my baby, he shifted a little, glared at me defiantly and demanded: "Let me go!"


	2. Let me go!

Chapter 2

"**Let me go!"**

He stared at me, still shaking with fear. "But I do not hold you" I said and put much surprise into my voice. "I only sit here, hoping for a little music to make my breakfast sweeter!" And with that, I opened the paper-bag with the rolls I still held. The wonderful odour of fresh bread filled the small room immediately. The way he swallowed, swayed and looked at the roll I took out said everything: the boy was weak from hunger. "Help yourself!" I suggested cheerily and held out the bag into his direction - what of course caused him to jerk back.

"Well, if you do not want a breakfast, I am hungry!" I declared with emphasis and bite into a roll. I had always felt at home in the church and therefore had never been afraid (even when I volunteered as a child to take the job to keep the church open) to take with me some food and drinking.

"Why do you not let me go?" He was begging now, but still he was very cautious.

"I do not hold you. You may leave the chapel if you want, and I will soon come to unlock the main door after I finished this roll."

In the very moment, through the windows sounded the merry giggling and shouting of playing children. The sun had risen by now, and the children from the adjacent houses were playing on the church square. Though it was hard to tell because of the mask, it seemed as if all hope for escape died in the boy at this sound. The church was located in the middle of the town, an escape could not have been managed unseen.

"What will you do with me?" he inquired hopelessly "I stole money from the church, broke into the box for the alms and took the tin."

"I will do nothing with you at all, boy, believe me. You did not damage the box as far as I have seen. You are able to give back the can. You may keep the money, which is not much. And as I see you do not like the idea of leaving the church right now, at any rate not through the front door, and that you are hungry and in poor condition . . ." he glanced shortly at the rags he was wearing ". . . I offer you a complete breakfast, a bath, a chance to let your clothes being washed and patched as good as possible - and all that without being seen by anybody but me. - And: you may leave whenever and wherever you want to go - through a better way than over the church square."

The look he cast at me could not been mistaken, despite the mask. How should he believe me?

"The church belongs to an old monastery, which is built at its back." I stated hastily. "I am a nun in that monastery (he surely would not care about the minor differences in catholic nuns in a convent and protestant canonesses in a monastery) and can bring you into my rooms unseen (moreover he surely would not ask why a nun has "rooms" - in fact, as a canoness one has a complete little flat for herself inside the monastery)."

"Julia" a voice rang through the church, and the boy, who had relaxed a very tiny bit, clasped at my harp with new panic. "Julia, dear, are you here?" I swallowed a curse, after all I was a canoness, and slipped - with as much softness and as little hard movement as I could - out of the pew and out of the chapel into the nave. "I am here, Mrs. von Spaeth!" I roared loudly, for the tiny old lady who came out of the cloister was a little hard in hearing - but if that is the only problem you have when you are 96 years old!

I sprinted through the church and came to an abrupt halt before her, what caused her to laugh a bit nervous. "Julia, you should not run inside the church! It may be all right if you allow children sometimes to do so, but you as a grown woman and a canoness . . . But we have discussed that so often, I guess you may never change." she said with a little laugh. Mrs. von Spaeth was old, but no one could ever call her archaic! "Sorry, Mrs. von Spaeth" I breathed. "How can I help you?" "Oh, never mind my dear, I just wanted to know where you were. I tried to invite you for breakfast, but you did not open your door . . ." I broke in on her: "I came here early before dawn, and then . . ." I paused. It would have been easy to simply tell her anything and make her leave. But was that wise? "Mrs. von Spaeth, there is a little boy in the chapel. He tried to steal money, and he is exhausted, ragged, dirty and nearly frightened to death. He is afraid to leave the church as well, for he does not want to be seen by anyone. I am trying to get him into my rooms unnoticed by anyone. Please, will you help me and get everybody out of the cloister and the adjacent yards and gardens?" I confessed hastily and as quietly as I could.

Mrs. von Spaeth looked at me in astonishment for a second. Then she responded simply: "But of course, dear." turned around and left the nave. She surprised me ever and again. How could one be so old and so active in mind?

When I came back to the chapel, the boy had let go of the harp and had no doubt been moving in the room, but he returned to his position behind the instrument the moment I came in.

"That was only one of the sisters who live here with me." I stated quietly. "She is gone. Have you decided what you want to do? Shall I open the front door for you?" I noticed that the paper-bag was gone. Smiling I reached into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out a banknote. Carefully I placed it on one of the pews. "Perhaps you will need a little more money than the 89 cent that were in the alms can and the single Euro from the box."

He looked at me in astonishment, but did not say a word. I was suddenly exhausted and not willing to wait any longer. "Come on now, boy" I prompted and left the little room without even looking back.


	3. Without looking back

Chapter 3

**Without looking back**

When I reached the point of the church where I had to go straight to reach the choir and altar, left to the main entrance, right to the door to the cloister, I stopped and listened a moment. I did hear nothing. Demonstratively slowly I turned around, wondering if the boy still hid in the chapel, and how to get him out if he did. But the boy was there, standing at the end of the nave, as if he was afraid to walk through the big hall when he was not alone. I did not urge him, but simply waited for him to move, and move he did at last, he carefully came along the rows. His moves were awesome to watch, as if he was gliding instead of walking, and though he was small and apparently afraid to death, and clad in rags, he had something mystical around him, something that made him fit to the place somehow, some aura that would have fit well to a priest.

He hesitated a few ranks before me. We looked at each other, still silent.

„Where do you want to go?" I finally asked, as he seemed unable to move or speak, but just stood there, one hand clutching around the wooden end piece of a bench.

When I had hoped to take him to an answer, I was disappointed. He did not respond. But he stole a frightened glance towards the main entrance, and I took that for an answer. "Follow me, it is here along, under the gallery." When I unlocked the little door that lead into another small chapel and from there into the cloister, I looked back and found he had really followed me. But when I waited at the door and gestured him to enter, he shied away and did not move closer. "Where are we going? Are we not going into the cloister?" he questioned silently.

"We can only reach the cloister through this chapel" I stated as calm as I could. I could not await that Mrs. von Spaeth kept everybody out of the area forever. "Come on boy, we have to hurry a bit!" He slipped along my side and through the door like a shadow, and squeezed himself in one corner of the room. On my way to the last door that separated us from the cloister, I was astonished to hear him murmur softly, but in awe: "This room must be very old."

I turned towards him and smiled appreciative: "Oh yes, it really is. More than 700 years." With this, I held the door open for him and motioned him to go on. We passed through the cloister, the adjacent corridors and yards swiftly and without further pause. Only when I stopped at the door to my second floor flat, I heard him pant, and even before I turned around to give him an encouraging smile, I could sense the panic that had befallen him again.

"There we are!" I declared happily and went into the little hall of my flat. He did not follow me, and a moment I feared he would turn around, run into the big premises of the monastery and be gone forever. But then he came, slowly, dragging himself up the stairs painfully. When he passed the doorway, I could not hold myself back and patted him on the shoulder in friendly approval.

I could as well have stuck him with a rod. He jumped away from me in blind fright, huddling into a corner and jerking down on his flight the odds and ends that lay on a chest of drawers.

A moment I was frozen from shock, but I pulled myself together and said as soft as I could: "I am sorry, boy, I really did not want to harm you. It will not happen again." And pointing towards the doors, I explained: "This, just right, is the guestroom, it leads into the guests bathroom. The door straight is my study, half to the left is the living room, and to the left is the kitchen. The stairs at the back lead up to my bath and bedroom and to the attic."

Entering the guest room and digging into the linen cupboard I cast a look at him and thought aloud: "I guess you first want to clean up yourself a bit. Here are towels, everything you may need in addition is in the bathroom. In the meanwhile I am going to prepare breakfast. Drop your clothes in front of the bathroom door, I will collect them and try to wash them. In the meantime I will give you some old clothes from my mother." I did misinterpret his terrified look "Don't look at me like this, my mother is a lot smaller than I am, and she always wears jeans and T-shirts!" But then I understood. "You can lock the bathroom from inside." And I went into the kitchen while he was still covering in that corner in the hall he had pressed himself into. I dearly hoped I had not horrified him too much, so that he finally would come out.


	4. Come out

Chapter 4

**Come out**

That was what he had done when I stole a glance into the hall after some minutes of pottering about in the kitchen. The odds and ends that had fallen from the chest of drawers had been gathered together an laid on top of it. The door to my guest room was closed, but I could not see movements through the hazy, frosted glass. So I knocked with caution, and after receiving no answer I peeked into the room and found it quite empty, except a huddle of clothes on the floor - and the paper-bag with rolls placed cautiously on the middle of the table.

While collecting the filthy clothes I loudly announced through the bath room door: "I am going to take your clothes away for a wash. Try on the clothes I put on the bed for you!"

Then I took out some of my mother's clothes - my parents kept a small stock of clothing at my house, in case they might have to change their dress when visiting me. I had always found that touchingly overcautious, but now I was grateful. I also added one of my father's underpants, but only pro forma. The boy could have wrapped himself into those pants twice.

In front of the washing machine I scanned through his "clothes" if you could still call them that. The pants and shirt were all right, the trousers as well, but the socks were not to be repaired, and I doubted that the sweater would survive the washing. The coat would need some serious maintenance, and I sighed, for sewing was not my strong point. A moment I stood, lost in thought, and watched the washer drum turning. What was I sliding into?

But before I could follow that thought, another one struck me like a whack on the head. All the special books and music in my living room! Of course had the boy immediately reminded me of the "Phantom" somehow, but now I realised that he might perhaps not react positively on all the books, the printouts of phan-fiction and various CD's with masked men on them.

Though I had been sad when I decided on my move in not to put up my phantom-puzzle-poster again, I was now very happy about that. Hastening up the stairs I prayed that he was still in the bath or guest room. Things seemed to go even worse when I heard the phone ring. My answering machine answered the call immediately, and my announcement was so short that I had no chance to reach the call in time. Entering the hall I heard Mrs. von Spaeth's voice:

"Julia, dear, strange to find you not at home at that time of day in the holidays. Well, I only wanted to say that I am to tell you from our abbess that the we all decided to go to a day trip to Hameln, there must be an exhibition or something . . . we will probably be coming home late. Well, I'll try to call again later in the evening, dear."

Nearly in tears of gratitude I hastily put all the suspect items into a bag and brought it to my bedroom. The boy still was in the bath room, and I heard the shower.

A day trip to Hameln! An exhibition! Hah! That had obviously been Mrs. von Spaeth's idea. We were not obligated by our constitution to spend most of our time together, in fact we only had three services and one congregation during the week as binding meetings. It normally was not easy to gather all the canonesses for a joint adventure.

It took quite a while until the boy finally came out of the bath room. The boy looked a little strange in my mother's jeans and T-shirt, they were still too wide for him, but only a little too large. He had obviously tried to wash his mask, but the success only was that the cloth got a grubby complexion.

As I preferred to eat at the table in the kitchen instead in the living room, I had set the table right there. It was enough room, even for more than two people. The door to the kitchen was open. Nevertheless, the boy stayed in the hall, uncomfortable and frightened stepping from one foot to another.

"Boy, come on in and take a seat! I am really hungry right now. It is ten o' clock, nearly midday now!" I called him in.

The child came like an animal that has been trapped and tortured before, throwing little glances at me, but never looking at me straight. "Thank you, Madam" he spoke under his breath when he slipped into a chair.

"Do not call me Madam" I laughed quietly and took the bread basket to offer it to him. He shrank back, and a moment I feared he would run away again, but he picked up enough courage to stay seated, looking at the basket in wonder. I choose to overlook his reaction.

"Please help yourself" I invited him and then went on on the former subject: "My name is Julia Lubov. Ms. Lubov or Julia will do just fine."

He hesitatingly took a slice of bread, whispered "Thank you" and after a moment added, with a quick look at me: "Ms Lubov."

I answered him with a smile and then took a piece of bread myself. He needed some more vivid invitations until he finally dared to take what he wanted and began to eat it. The boy was on his guard, not only cautiously watching my every movement, but also listening prick-eared to every sound from inside and outside.

There was no sense in trying to talk to him while he was eating, so I simply concentrated on having breakfast myself. Food had always been important to me - as everybody could simply tell by looking at my measures. Laughing I always stated that Freud would say eating was a way of sublimation of my suppressed drives. It surely was a way to express my feelings to people - for I loved to cook for and with others, and was aware that it was one of my ways of showing affection. I believed in the saying "love goes through the stomach" (Liebe geht durch den Magen).

Apparently the boy did not think of affection or anything else but the opportunity to fill his empty stomach. He ate hastily, but without gorging, and whatever food he took he took hastily, as if he was afraid I could either hinder him from taking something or as if he was afraid I might try to touch him again.

He was done with his breakfast long before me, and, by way of an exception, not because of the amount I ate, but because of his speed. While he uneasily watched me chewing (and pretended not to do so), I wondered about what I might say or do after I had finished - or if he might suddenly jump up and run, and about his age, his name, his origin and many other questions more.

Finally, I leaned back in my chair satiated. "Are you sure you are full?" was what I said at last. He stared at his hands but finally murmured: "Yes, thank you very much, Ms. Lubov. You are very kind."

It was obvious that he had thought about these sentences before. They sounded like recited, and I was somehow disappointed. Why didn't he open up a bit? We had had winos, dossers and former convicts in our houses, giving them the opportunity to find a new base from which they could start their lives anew. Of course they had not always been a joy! They had stolen, threatened us, they had drunk and taken drugs while they were in our homes. They had been bold, some aggressive, and some had clearly stated that we might lick them at the butt.

But nobody had ever been as uncommunicative as this boy. He had not even trusted me with his name yet!

With a light sigh and a half-hearted smile I got up and started to clear the table. The child shrank back in his chair, pressing his arms to his side, and watched me distrustfully.

"Well" I started to think loudly while working "Your clothes still are not ready - that is, those that I could wash at least. So I guess you will prefer to wait here for another while, won't you? And I think what is left of your clothes is not enough to go on the street with. So I submit a proposal: While you simply wait here and perhaps take a little nap or something, I will go into town and buy some clothes, and perhaps some new shoes for you. It is only half past eleven now, and the shops will be opened until four this Saturday. What do you think, boy?"

When I turned to look at him, I found that he had started to tremble again, and he clutched his hands to his knees so hard that the fingers started turning blue - and I was honestly afraid he might pull out or break his kneecap! He was now staring at me openly, the eyes behind the mask opened wide.

I had to bring up all my patience to wait, but was at length rewarded with the sight of the boy finally relaxing a tiny bit, and the astonished request: "You are not kidding, Ms., are you? You want to buy me clothes! You invite me to stay here at your house while you go to buy clothes for me?"

Smiling, I answered: "Well, young man, there is nothing special in it. Do you remember: I am a canoness, and it is our duty and our pleasure to help people in need. And I think we both agree that you are in need of clothes at the moment, don't we?"

The child swallowed hard and managed a nod.

"Ok, boy" - that word 'boy' started to annoy me terribly - "let me show you." and walking into the living room, I pointed to the walls that were completely lined by bookshelves which left only free the windows, doors and a place where a TV, a hi-fi-unit and quite a stock of CD's and vinyl were located.

"If you want to read, there should be enough books. You may of course listen to music . . ." I swallowed all that 'be careful and behave' ranting at the last moment - after all, I was a teacher, but needed not always sound like one, and went on: "Of course you can take the book - when you find one you want to read - to the guest room, if you like it there better than here. There are a radio and a CD-player there also. If you are thirsty or hungry, feel free to help yourself in the kitchen. I will hurry to be back."

In my mind, I was cursing myself wildly. Damn, I was a teacher! Had I forgotten everything I had studied? I even was a teacher for children with special needs! I had been working with quite a range of not only visually impaired children, but with children with behavioural problems as well. And now I was behaving like an idiot!

Worried and enervated about myself I simply stated "Feel at home!" grabbed my purse, latchkey and backpack and went out of the house. With an effort I withstood the urge to turn round immediately. I did not want to leave that child in my house alone. But there was no choice, I had to trust the boy.


	5. Trust the boy

Chapter 5

"**Trust the boy"**

Was the thought I repeated over and over again, like a rhythm that set the pace of my steps, like a mantra to soothe me and make me stop thinking.

Still, I could not bring myself to leave the house immediately, so at first I went into the cellar and put the boy's clothes into the dryer - and then I braced myself and headed towards the shopping street.

But when I stepped out of the claustral area, other thoughts absorbed me. I had no time to drive to the bigger towns in the hinterland, where I could have bought clothes and shoes anonymously. Our city was small, and I, as one of the canonesses, was quite well known - especially as I had lived here with short breaks since I had been ten years old and because I had always been dedicated to the parish. There would not be a possibility to simply walk into a shop, buy clothes for a boy with the size of a seven year old, and go out unquestioned again.

The thin figure of the boy and the awaited inquiring faces of the vendors whirled around in my mind. People were used to me being lost in thoughts, and greeted me cheery as they walked by, but other then else they did not even get back a scatterbrained, but friendly reply (everybody was used to me walking deep in thought, but normally I at last reacted when somebody spoke to me). And I would even have walked over one of our parsons, had he not called my name when I walked on.

"Ms. Julia, what is wrong with you?"

I winced at the sudden call that broke into my thoughts.

"Oh, Pastor Mainbergk!" I frantically thought about what to tell him. It had been a long way for me to come to the recognition that truth is much better than lies, especially in important situations. But still I knew that truth was not always a possible way.

"How are you?"

I greeted him while we shook hands, and as this is a real question in my country, his response was: "The question should better be how you are, Julia. You look totally unnerved."

I thought too much about swearing for my position today. And as I could not invent a lie so fast, I simply said: "Do not ask me. I really do feel unnerved. But I have no time to tell you, for I am in a hurry. I promise I will come to you and tell you everything when I have returned to earth. Acceptable proposal?"

"It has to be, then. But promise me you will try not to worry too much and call for help if you need it" he replied frowning. And already walking, looking back over my shoulder, waving goodbye at him, I called: "I do, pastor!"

Of course the sales woman in the fashion shop could have simply sold me what I wanted - and could have started gossiping the moment I left. But she was too curious to take my strange behaviour - a "nun" buying children' clothes - without satisfying her curiosity.

"Excuse me, Julia, if I am inquisitive. But for whom are you buying these clothes? Isn't your nephew long grown up? And surely you would have told me if you were great-aunt of a school boy?"

Sometimes it was fun to live among people you knew from school-days on, but sometimes it was . . . - No, enough swearing for today.

"Janine, think of it, my cousin, who did not call on me for so long, has announced that she wants to visit me and bring along her little boy. Well, she sounded as if she was thinking about a place where she could leave the boy a few days, while she is on business, and I want to show her that though I am a canoness, I still am prepared for the needs of a boy. And the convent area is a great playground for a boy - and a place where one can get pretty dirty, especially now that we have the new pond . . ." I let phase out my words. Such a great lie, and so many traps that lay in it. What had I done?

Now that I had satisfied her curiosity, I was able to take out all the undergarment, the jeans, T-Shirts, sweater, coat, socks and shoes.

Luckily it all fitted into my backpack, so hopefully there would be no need for further explanation on the street.

On my way home I was more attentive to the people around me, greeting them cheerily or waving to those who were too far away to enter conversation. Only of the other one of my pastors did I get rid of by simply waving at him and saying without stopping to greet him: "No time, Pastor Schweick, I am in a hurry! Have a nice day!"

He only laughed and shouted "You too, and don't bustle so much!" He had already been in the parish when we had moved here, and had since not changed his unhurried jovial outspokenness.

When I came into the washkitchen, the clothes were gone.

Calming myself I wondered about the resourcefulness of the boy, who had perhaps been helpful by taking his clothes out himself.

But when I came into my flat I immediately saw that my keys were missing. The rooms were all empty, and the boy was gone.

Empty in mind and soul I sat down on the guests bed, where at least my mother's clothes lay neatly folded.

How could I have trusted him? Though my heart had spoken good about the boy, my mind had known before that it had been a mistake.


	6. It had been a mistake

Chapter 6

**It had been a mistake**

I had no energy left to be furious. Had anybody who knew me seen me that moment, they would have been really worried about me. I was known to rail like a fishwife whenever a problem did appear or something irksome happened. (What had been my biggest problem when I asked to be accepted as a canoness.) To sit somewhere downhearted was not my way.

Finally I dragged myself up. The problem was not only that the boy was gone. That was a pity, exasperating and a waste of money for the clothes.

The problem was that he had taken my bunch of keys for the monastery, the church and the parish hall.

My decision was to have a look around first, so that I could maybe find the keys - that was, if he had left them somewhere after he had no longer any use for them. Why had he taken them at all I wondered while I slowly made my way down the stairs. I had not locked him in when I went out, he could simply have left. Perhaps he had not noticed that there were many other open ways to leave the area except the one through the cloister and the church?

Now I wished one of the other canonesses to be here. I was deeply in need to talk to someone. And, though I did not want to admit it, I was worrying about the boy. If only nothing happened to him now, on his flight through the bright daylight!

When I found the door to the small chapel between cloister and church to be not locked, my heart rose a bit. If he had taken this way, would he perhaps have left the keys inside the church, as soon as he needed them no longer? But then again, was not the possession of these keys like an invitation to come again and try to rob something? We had some art treasures in here, and even a child could recognise their worth, even if it needed help to take them out . . . had I been trapped by some perfidious thiefes, who had sent the boy as a vanguard?

The door to the church was unlocked as well. However, there was no need to hurry. As happily and as energetically as I normally jumped into the church, slowly and ponderous did I move in today. At least, he had not left a door wide open, as far as I could see. Had he bunked off through the sacristy? Had he perhaps broken into the desk there and finally tried to steal the collect? I hurried through the choir to the door that led from there into the sacristy.

The door that lead out of the sacristy into the church square was locked, and the desk was untouched.

The relief I felt made my knees feel weak. I let out a four letter word, which nearly emerged as a sob, and hardly managing to walk the few steps that brought me into the nave let myself sink onto the first steps to the pulpit. I was too affected by that damned events. Why could I not keep my self control, as I could at school or at anything that happened with my parish or friends or family? Had I not always been the one to keep cool as cucumber come what may?

I got up to make the few steps to the main entrance, willing to take up my patrol again.

The main entrance was locked as well. He surely would not have taken the time to lock it from outside, would he? That would force me to walk all around the monastery to check it . . .

Exhausted by the thought I turned around.

He stood there shyly, at one of the galleries columns, watching me with guarded regard, the keys in his hand.

I was too puzzled to even show any reaction. For a while we just looked at one another, and then he was the first to move. Lifting the heavy bunch in his hand a bit he took a few steps towards me and quietly said: "I did not think you would come back so soon, Ms. Lubov." And, with dread in his voice: "I hope you are not too angry that I took your keys and came here. It was just because I did like it here so much and wanted to look around a while."

I was so happy he had not run away! I could have grabbed him and squeezed him tight! But that, of course, would have been the last time I ever saw him . . . So I simply - and acting with slow caution - closed the steps between us and took the keys from him, taking care not to touch him.

Then I eyed him and asked: "You like that church? But it is cold and damp and dark, and it needs a painting and has saltpetre at the walls - and hardly any paintings or so."

Maybe I had been too snappy, for he took a few steps back and looked uncomfortably down at the floor. When I just wanted to start to apologise for my rudeness, I heard him, in half a whisper: "But it is beautiful in its simplicity! And the altar is so fascinating!" I listened with rising wonder when he went on: "I would really like to have some more time to look around. Do you perhaps have a book or something about the church?"

Now, if that wasn't the straw that breaks the camel's back! Was that the child that had thrown himself into a corner when I had dared to touch him? Was that the boy, who had needed a whole meal to finally form two pressed sentences? It took all my might not to grin like a Cheshire cat. "Well, if that is what you think and want, you are lucky. We canonesses all have had a short introduction how to be a church guide. And of course do we have several books on our church. So, if you want, I can give you a tour, and afterwards we can search through the books for all the answers I could not give. How do you like that?"

He considered that for a moment, carefully watching me, and then, looking directly into my eyes, he slowly, hesitantly replied: "That would be great!"

We started our tour through the church at one in the afternoon, and while I led him through the main building, showing him all the little and big marvels I loved so dearly and rejoicing on every discovery he made, on every joy he found, I observed him closely, but secretly.

It had been obvious before that the boy was not only afraid because I had caught him as a thief and that I might handle him to the police or some other instance for that crime. He was afraid of men. Whenever a sound from outside echoed loudly in the nave, or whenever it seemed that somebody was about to enter the church (what was unlikely, for the doors were locked), he would wince, cast a hasty glance around and dive between the pews or behind a column or wherever he hoped to find a hiding place.

The child also carefully avoided any chance to be touched, even by chance. He kept the space between the two of us as wide as possible. Though he tried to hide how much he enjoyed the expedition, he was very alert and hat a quick apprehension. At first he was afraid to answer my numerous requests on the things he saw or did not see - I had not been trained on guide for children for nothing! But when he finally accepted that I meant him no harm, he willingly responded - though he always kept his hushed voice and shy behaviour.

By the way he spoke and behaved I concluded that he must be much older than six or seven, what would be his age according to his small and thin growth. But though he acted very grown, I dared to doubt that he was older than ten!

When he asked me if some special detail could be seen from the organ's gallery as well, I simply said: "Go up and have a look, boy!"

When I saw his figure lean on the balustrade of the gallery, I called up: "And, do you like the view from there, young man?" And went on, advising him on what he should have a special interest from up there.

He finally came down slowly, and made his way to my side deep in thought, dragging his feet and looking to the ground. But when he reached me, he looked up at my face and offered gently: "Ms. Lubov, if you want, you may call me Erik."


	7. Erik

Chapter 7

„**Erik"**

I echoed softly. How could that have surprised me? The Phantom of the Opera was a well known musical and story, and his name indeed no secret.

Whether that was his real name or not, it was a great progress that he trusted me with his first name. And while I watched him look uncomfortably at the floor, I remembered what I had learned about the old believes on names. To be able to give something a name meant not only consciousness, but also power about the named object, and to know someone's name meant to have power about him.

He had gathered enough self-confidence in himself and enough trust in me to break into my thoughts with a question: "Ms Lubov, can you please tell me what other gallery it is on the right side of the choir? The one under which the door to the cloister is situated?"

"That is the canoness' gallery. We usually attend service from there. You can only get there through the cloister, not straight from the church." I answered, and added: "Would you like to go there too?" when the bell started ringing three o' clock.

I feared to frustrate him when I had to confess: "We can go there later, if you want. But now it is my duty to open the church for visitors during the next three hours."

He did not seem too disappointed, but asked very seriously: "But you won't forget to show me later, will you? And there are two doors you have not opened yet, and if you do not mind, I would like to see the monastery, too."

I bite on my lips to suppress a laughter. "Of course, I will show you everything you want to see around here. . . . Sometimes nobody comes in during all the hours I spend here. Would you like to stay with me? If somebody comes, there are still a lot of hiding-places, and if there are too much people, you can simply slip into the small chapel that leads to the cloister."

At first, he seemed intimidated, but then he asked: "May I sit under the canoness' gallery and read the books about the church?"

"It is much too dark there to read!" I exclaimed, but when I met his eyes which filled with fear again, I admitted: "However, there is a pocket lamp lying in the pew at the door, and you may use it if it still works. But if it is extinguished, no reading in the dark, promise me!"

"I do!" it was very near to a little exclamation, and he took the books quite fast and ran to the pew in a way one could nearly call excited.

There was quite a lot of public that day, due to the good weather. Still, I never heard or saw a special door open or close, though the pocket lamp stayed off most of the time.

When pastor Mainbergk came to take the watch in the church, so that I might go and guide a tourist-tour through the monastery, I asked in astonishment: "Since when do you work in the "open church project"? I thought our abbess would have asked one of the project-members to take that duty while my sisters are all in Hameln?"

"She most surely did, but some are on holiday and others are busy. She begged me on the phone so imploringly this morning, I could not let her down."

"Oh!" I answered "well, now that you have proven how good a soul you are, would you be cross if I asked you even a greater favour?"

"I will do my best to improve your well-being, Ms. Lubov, if you only say it will make you feel better than you looked this morning" he joked while I wondered if I could let the man, who was severely walking impaired, do my job in the monastery so I could stay here with hidden Erik.

"Great! Would you like to take my guide tour through the monastery? It is so warm outside, and although there are a lot of tourists here, they are less stressing than a tour . . ." I pleaded.

He took a deep breath and thought about it for a moment, then, to my great relief said yes and hurried away after I had handed him the necessary keys. Most of the tourists left with him, for the chance of a guided tour through a monastery did attract them.

When the church was empty, I asked into thin air: "Erik! Erik, where are you?"

He appeared at one of the columns that supported our gallery, but did not step into the nave. I hurried to his side while he carefully watched the open doors. I could not overlook the distrust in his eyes.

"Come on boy!" I rushed him "The visitors will be led the same way we have come here, and will probably come into the church through the chapel. You have to hide elsewhere . . . I know. The Nuns' Choir!" I hastily went to the far end of the church and stopped at a corner, where steps led upward, deviating to the right after a few meters, so that the rest of the steps was hidden from view. Handling a key to the boy, I explained: "There is a room behind the door where you can stay. We use it for choir rehearsals before services, perhaps you are interested in the sheet music that is stored there." Had he been frightened and distrusting before, he now silently accepted the key and hurried up the stairs. Turning away, I heard his quiet voice: "Thank you Ms. Lubov, you are very friendly, and I do cause so much trouble for you." He was already upstairs and I was not sure if he did hear my answer: "Erik, you are most welcome!"

The pastor needed much more than the usual time for the tour, and, as I had foreseen, led the visitors back to the church through the cloister and ended the tour there. I laughingly chimed in into the applause that rewarded his labours. He was obviously happy. When the visitors had gone to have a last look on the church or whatever they had in mind to do late in the afternoon, Mr. Mainbergk turned to me and asked: "It is nearly six o' clock now, and what do you think of inviting me to a cup of tea after you have locked up the building? Let's say as a reward for my troubles?"

"Jesus!" I exclaimed - quite at the right place, by the way - and started running towards the Nuns' Choir. "I forgot a key up there, just wait for me, please!" and that was not even a lie.

When I reached the stairs, I saw Erik already standing on the dark steps, but he was fast as the wind when I motioned him up into the room. If he had touched the sheet music there at all, he had been careful not to put anything in the wrong place afterwards.

"I shall wait here until you come back. The time won't be long for me, it is quite interesting here" he quietly stated when I had closed the door - and with that did he show me that he had heard our words down there.

My first impulse was to agree. The parson would be very questioning and worried if I objected to his idea of having tea at my home, for he knew how much I liked a little chat at every time and opportunity.

But my answer was firm and clear: "No. Erik, I want you to think about an offer: Stay here, at my house, in this convent for as long as you wish. I will not betray you or send you away or give your name away to anybody.

"But you must know that I have to follow some rules I cannot break. Obedience to my abbess is one of them. I can not hide you here for a longer time without her knowledge.

Nor can you hope to stay here unnoticed forever, even if we both tried. I am a sociable person and many of my duties afford close contact to many different people.

"Still I will hide you, if you wish, and I will only let in people after having your acceptance.

But the people I live with, the canonesses, and the people I am most close to, like the pastor, must know about you sooner or later. It is not possible to hide a person all alone!"

When he started backing away from me in fear, I feverishly added: "You could even consider, if somebody would want to take you away, if somebody trapped you, to seek asylum in here. Many people use the church's right to offer sanctuary!"

He stood at the wall now, no further retreat possible. Again he was like the frightened bundle, only that he was too paralysed even to crawl into a corner.

Exasperated, I could do nothing but to look at him pleadingly and hope that my words would succeed through all the crusts of fear and distrust into his heart and brain.

"Erik" I whispered " You cannot be always on the run!"

"Julia?" the call came directly from the bottom of the stairs, "everything all right up there?"

"Yes" I shouted back, what made Erik twitch and tremble only more "the key has fallen between all the mess here, I am still searching, just wait, I'll soon be there!" No one could wonder about something falling into the "mess", for our cantoress was known for the mess she always produced.

When I looked to the boy, it was as if he was getting electric shocks, so hard did he tremble and so spastic was his struggle for breath.

If I had only dared to touch him! But I seriously feared to kill him if I laid my hands on him. So I stood there, full of pain at this view. I jerked when suddenly, with a whimper, he put his hands before his face and writhed down, falling to his knees.

That I could no longer stand. But just as I moved towards him, he jumped up, rushing over me to the other side of the room, and stopped there, heavily breathing and staring at me wide eyed. "You offer to let me live in your house?" His voice was high with agitation.

"That can't be! Nobody ever wanted me! Only the doctors . . ." He eyed me suspiciously "are you a doctor? Are you a psychiatrist!"

"No, Erik. I am a teacher."

Long seconds he only stood there, panting, staring to the floor and tried to understand something entirely new and entirely frightening, but somehow positive.

Finally he whispered: "You really offer me to stay at your house - for a while" that came hastily, "and you do not want to cheat me. You are a nun, you are afraid to say a lie." If only he knew! "So maybe I can trust you . . ." he lost himself in thoughts completely new, but only for a moment. Then the boy lifted his head and declared, still shaking with fear, but very firm in his manner: "I shall stay with you a while."

It would have fit into the chaos of the day if the door had opened the same moment to reveal the parson and cause new shock, but Mr. Mainbergk only shouted from downstairs: "Are you sure I can't help you?"

"Yes, I am quite sure" I mumbled, but then I opened the door and said cheerily: "I got it! I am coming."

Turning to Erik, I motioned him to leave the room with me, and I was surprised, for he did come, reluctantly, but without protest. He was still shaking (or again?) but I no longer feared for him to die because of a heart attack.

When I had locked the room, the boy had pressed himself against the wall like a moth, and I was careful not to touch him when I passed him on my way down.

Against my fear did Erik follow me down the stairs.

The patiently waiting pastor was amazed when I joined him followed by a small, black-clad person.

"Erik, may I introduce you to my pastor, Mr. Mainbergk . . . Mr. Mainbergk, this is Erik, he is my guest." I felt extremely uncomfortable, especially when the pastor suppressed his astonishment and smilingly extended a hand towards Erik.

"Hello, Erik, nice to meet you! So you were the cause for the changes in Ms. Lubov's daily routine today? What a pleasant surprise!"

The boy retreated so hastily that he fell over the steps he had just come down.

"Boy!" I exclaimed appalled, but took care not to help him up.

"Are you harmed?" Mr. Mainbergk had dropped his hand and cast a very concerned look at Erik, but had enough presence of mind not to step closer.

"I am all right. I am very sorry, sir." Erik hung down his head.

Before that could get too great an embarrassment, I surrounded the man and proceeded through the nave towards my home, declaring: "I do go home now! I am dearly in need of a big cup of tea. You two come with me, or you have to ask for your tea elsewhere!"

They both came, Erik in wary distance to Mr. Mainbergk and to me, and finally following me in.


	8. Follow me in

Chapter 8

**Follow me in.**

The boy clearly felt queasy in company of the new stranger. I understood that the happenings of the day must be all a bit too much for him. So I did offer some herbal tea and some easy made canapés, and when the boy seemed satiated, what was soon enough, I gently asked him if he wanted to go to bed.

Erik assented readily and relieved. But he hesitated at the door and shyly turned around to bashfully bid us good night. I smiled at him warmly and announced: "I will come in when you are ready and see if everything is good."

That seemed to trouble him, but he did not protest and left quietly.

Mr. Mainbergk looked at me with worry and asked: "Now, you do not want to say that this is a normal visitor. How did you meet the boy and why does he stay here? He is in trouble, and he acts very strange. What do you plan to do with him?"

"You ask a lot of questions at one time, pastor." I sighed and closed my eyes. Then I inhaled deeply and confessed everything. In conclusion I looked at the man, who had become very serious and troubled through my story, and added: "Of course I know it is illegal what I am doing. Of course I know I have to tell my abbess, and of course I know I have to call on the youth welfare office.

"The boy run away from somewhere, and though he obviously does not want to go back, he perhaps has no choice! But I believe he could need a rest, a bit security, some time to pick up courage. And I am willing to provide him the place and time for it. You have not seen the state he was in when I met him! He has obviously been living not only on the streets, but in the woods! And you see he is afraid of men, and that does not come from living in a sound environment!

"I promised the boy I would not cheat him or turn him over to anybody, and you will not cheat me! Mr. Mainbergk, I do not have to remind you on your professional discretion, do I?"

I had enraged myself and looked at him pugnaciously.

He raised his hands in a depressant manner, but stated: "I do not think that indicating a case of kidnapping would be a breach of secrecy. But I agree with you that the boy is so deeply troubled that any betrayal, as he would see it, would cause great damage to his soul. But you must talk to your abbess soon, and you must contact the welfare office!"

"I know. And I will do it. But at the moment I have to look after the boy, he should long be ready by now, and if you don't mind, I am quite tired myself."

He rose at an instant. "Good night, Ms. Julia, I will not bother you any longer. But I will think about what we can do for the boy, if I may take the liberty. Sleep well." And he left.

When I knocked softly at Erik's door, I got no answer, but he was sitting upright in his bed when I peeked in. He wore one of my T-shirts, as I had forgotten to buy pyjamas.

He made a pitiable sight, the small boy sitting obviously afraid in the bed, nearly getting lost in that colossal shirt. It was clear he did not know what was due. He watched me with concern as I sat down on a chair next to the bed.

"Do you feel comfortable, Erik?" I questioned. "Do you need something? Is there anything I can do for you right now?"

Erik nodded at the first and shook his head at the second question, then murmured: "Thank you, Madam, you are too kind . . ." and when the child saw my sad smile, he hastily corrected himself with a hoarse whisper: "Ms. Lubov."

"Do you mind if I say a prayer for you now?" I asked, now myself feeling unconfident. Was it wise to bring out my being a canoness so much?

It seemed to surprise him, but after a second he said: "No, that is all right."

I spoke a short prayer, thanking God for the visitor he had brought to my house and begging him to protect my guest through the night; then I added the Lord's Prayer. Erik did watch me with guided curiosity, remaining completely still while I spoke.

When I finished, I rose immediately and started to go, but I stopped at the bottom of his bed. Lightly and shortly running my hand over the blanket, (and never even coming near the part of the bed where he sat!) I murmured: "Sleep well, Erik" and left.

It was yet early in the evening and as I was still restless, I went into the church to play on my harp for a while. As usual, I did not go there straight, but wandered through the beloved building - and saw: the tin box had been put at it's original place . . .

Normally, I was soon lost into my music, but today the image of the lonesome boy did always return to my mind and I found me ever again memorising the way he had been looking today - at first, that small, dirty bundle, and then, while exploring the church, the eager figure clad in tight black clothes. Erik was so small and thin - the height of a seven year old, and no more than bones, encased only by pale skin, the veins clearly accenting, as they were hardly surrounded by flesh. Though assuming that he might get the figure of a normal child if he gained weight, I had found his hands to be thinner and longer than normal, but oddly pleasant to watch. I had not found out yet, which colour the eyes were which glowed so distrustful behind the mask and were shaded by nearly black, shining hair that fell to his shoulders in light curls.

Everything was quiet when I came home, and I did not look into Erik's room, I feared to wake him.

The next morning came much too fast. It was a Sunday, and to attend to the ten o' clock service was one of our canoness' duties.


	9. A Canoness’ duty

Chapter 9

A Canoness' duty 

There was no doubt that I would have to speak to my abbess after the service. We Protestant canonesses here have many privileges, but we are bound to obedience towards our Abbess, and furthermore, I really could not think how I should be able to hide Erik from the convent.

Tiptoeing down the stairs at about half past nine, I could not resist to peek into Erik's room, merely to see if I had woke him up by walking around upstairs.

He was already dressed, his bed was made and he was sitting on an edge of it, reading a book. When he noticed the door being opened, he hastily laid down the book and jumped from the bed to stand. His thin figure, again dressed in his old, rug-like clothes, was stiff as a poker. He was obviously afraid that I might show disapproval on his behaviour.

"Good morning, Erik. You are up quite early. And how busy you have been, you already made your bed!" I greeted him warmly. Then I looked at him enquiring: "Why don't you wear your new clothes? Don't they fit? Don't you like them?"

He looked at his hands and shuffled his feet nervously when he answered: "I did not know if I was allowed to put them on . . ." his voice faded.

"Oh boy, of course you are allowed to put them on! They are yours now, and you may dress exactly as you wish . . . that is, well, perhaps depending on the weather and maybe the occasion."

Erik swallowed, then whispered doubtfully: "You - you make them a present to me? Why? What do you want from me in return?"

He looked up at me, distrustfully, and I found his gaze extremely troubling.

"I do want nothing in return" I answered frowning. And then, rapidly changing the subject, I asked: "Do you want to have breakfast with me? I have to attend service in about one hour, but that is enough time. Change, if you wish, and come into the kitchen when you are ready."

Again, I somehow felt not content with my reactions being so much . . . well . . . unpedagogical!

When I walked into the kitchen quite energetic, I stopped in speechless wonder. The child had already set the table! It was obvious that he had never done that before, for it was done a bit unskilled - some parts of silverware missing, others unnecessary, but it was an obviously anxious work. Smiling, I put on water and took out the milk.

Erik came shy and hesitant, again playing with his hands nervously, and slipped onto his chair quietly. The new trousers fit quite well, but the sweater was a bit too wide and made him look smaller than he already was. He seemed to become even more embarrassed when I thanked him for setting the table. The breakfast went on quiet, but when I started to clean the table, he slipped from his chair and helped me with this task. After finishing this work, he looked to the clock on the wall and stated: "It is twenty minutes to ten. Do you have to go now?"

Somehow he looked very sad at that moment, and so I approved: "Yes, that's right. Do you want to come with me?"

He took a step back, obviously appalled. "To the service? Into the church?"

And when I pretended not to understand his refusal, but only looked at him, he mused: "The organ will play, won't it? And the worshippers will sing, and perhaps the choir? I have never been . . ."

Erik seemed to be very unhappy now, and as I realised that I wanted too much of him and how sad he was, I proposed: "There is a room behind the canoness' gallery. One can hear at least most of the service from there. You can stay there and listen if you want, Erik."

But he was too afraid to come, and so I left him alone, and I had the dim feeling that we both were miserable somehow.

The service was short today, pastor Mainbergk hurrying through it with great speed. But when he spoke a prayer for all those who had to struggle with their duties, he cast an unmistakable glance up towards our gallery and to my direction. Our abbess leaned back with lifted eyebrows, then cast an inquisitive look along our line. When we finally rose after the service, I took a deep breath, went to her side and asked: "May I talk to you, please? Privately? Now?"

She was not amused at all. But she was tested with me, and she knew how stubborn I could be if I felt something to be important. We were very much alike with that. And so she finally sighed and declared: "I will find out about seeking asylum. But nevertheless, I issue an ultimatum: First: I want to see the boy within the next three days. Second: Our community has to be informed within the next week, and we will discuss the matter and decide by majority vote about what we will do. Third: If, an I say if we are going to help the boy to stay here, the youth welfare agency has to be informed within another week. I am helping you with an illegal act. We can be accused for kidnapping, you know that, Julia?"

Her stern eyes seemed hard and cold, but I knew that she was concerned and that she had to seek the best for our monastery. "Thank you!" I whispered and turned to leave.

She called me back at the door: "Julia! Try to remember: You are only human. You cannot save every broken soul. Only HE can."

I cast her a wry smile and proceeded, deeply worried by her words.

Erik was sitting by the living room window when I came home. He rose, and again seemed to feel guilty and afraid. "Have you been bored?" I asked him.

"There are a lot of different birds on the cloister patio!"

That sounded quite eagerly, and when I requested: "Birds?" he gestured to the window and added lively:

"Sparrows and bigger blackbirds. The sparrows were afraid of the bigger birds and fled, but then there was a kestrel circling, and the blackbirds flew away, too. That kestrel came quite close. Does it live in the tower?"

"It does. It is a pair, and their breed as well. Sometimes you can still see all five." Realising his fascinated silence, I added: "They had three eggs in the spring, and there are three young ones now."

"Oh!" was all he said, but with such enthusiasm that I offered to visit the tower and the nest with him right now.

"But there will be only the bare nest now, they will all flee us when they see us" I warned him.

"I know, but I have never seen a kestrel's nest before. Do you think they will hatch again?" he wanted to know.

"Not this year, but perhaps next year."

He did not say a word from then on, while we made our way through the monastery and the church, sneaking like thieves again, and then up through the run down staircase of the old tower. Nevertheless it was obvious that, whenever he did not fear to come across somebody, he enjoyed that journey a lot, taking in every single view or sound he was offered, fondly touching vivid green plants as well as old grey stone walls, wooden doors and rusty ancient latches.

The gracious wild birds were well accustomed to me and did not worry too much when we lifted our heads through the large trapdoor. Two of them were in the nest, and Erik got completely lost in their view. He stood perfectly still for a long time, hardly breathing, but not, as usual, out of fear, but of fascination and wonder. The blood ceased circulating through my hand and arm which held up the door, so I was finally forced to move, not because the pain became unbearable, but because I did not feel it any longer and feared to drop the door on our heads.

My movement seemed to wake the boy from his observations, and he whispered in excitement: "They are so beautiful!"

"Yes. Get down the ladder immediately!" I could not manage a tone more friendly or a sentence more explicate, for the trapdoor was sliding out of my hand, and to catch it I had to turn around, and therefore needed space.

He obeyed immediately, obviously shocked by my roughness. The door came down that moment, and I ducked away in time, whispering curses about my clumsiness. It was evident that Erik had misinterpret the scene and, not knowing if or what he had done wrong, was waiting for some rebuke.

"Sorry, Ms. Lubov." He whispered when I reached the ground.

"Sorry for what, Erik?"

He just stared at me in silent fear and uncertainty.

"Erik, dear, I just lost hold of that heavy door. I should have opened it wholly, but was afraid that we would shoo away the kestrels with that. You did not do anything wrong, I just needed you to get out of the way quickly!" I could not help but laugh softly.

The child started to tremble again. How I had feared that! He stared down at his feet and again murmured: "Sorry."

"It's all right, boy." Whatever he might be sorry for! "Come on, let us get down and clean us up a bit, we are full of dust and cobwebs."

He followed me, at first ducked and tense, but by the time we had reached the tower's bottom, he asked me, shyly but with impression: "Have you seen of what they built their nest? And how neat it was!"

When we had reached my flat, he had asked me a packet of questions without ever waiting for me to answer and had told me lots and lots of little details he had found amazing. He was suddenly acting like quite a normal boy. When I turned to him in the hallway, smiling and nodding to his words and patiently waiting for him to come to an end, he suddenly cut short the sentence he was just saying, hung his head and said, very depressed: "I am talkative and disrespectful and a true encumbrance to you." With that he fell silent.

I shook my head vigorously (not that he had seen this, with his head bent) and answered empathetically: "Erik, you are none of that! You are a great observer and have a gift of describing what you have seen. I very much like to listen to you and talk to you, believe me, boy!"

He did not move. Was he embarrassed? Did he think me a liar? "Now, Erik, wash your hands and change your clothes. I will do the same. Shall we two meet in the kitchen afterwards?"

"Yes, Madam." With that, he went into his room. Madam!

Changing into another pair of wide jeans and a casual shirt, I wondered what it was that roamed around in my head . . . something I had forgotten . . . Mrs. von Spaeth! She usually had tea with me on Sundays. She would be here at half past three! Oh . . . ! It was half past one now. I spoke a short, desperate prayer, begging for help with my decisions. Should I call her and postpone our meeting to next week? She knew of Erik already, and she was a sweet old lady. Perhaps it would be good if I introduced them to each other? Another point was that by now, she would be asleep in her after-dinner-nap.

Erik was waiting in the kitchen. That is - waiting was the wrong word. He had climbed onto the worktop, so that he could have a better view out of the window! When I came into the room, he hopped down hastily. Obviously he knew that he had done something forbidden, and by the looks of him he was awaiting punishment now.

"Hey child! What do you think you are doing! Scramble up onto my kitchen! An with shoes on!" I could not stay serious, but chuckled in disbelief. Erik lifted his head and looked at me in astonishment when he heard my laughter. He was not able to integrate that laughter into the context, and that made his fear even bigger. So when I made a step towards him, he drew back until his back hit a kitchen unit.

My chuckling stuck in my throat at that pitiable sight. Who had hurt him that much, and how could I only free him from such deep fear?

It was a strange feeling of de ja vue when I slowly raised my hands and said softly: "Shhh, boy, it's all right, I'm not going to hurt you or something. You know now that a worktop is no place to climb on, at least not with shoes on, and you won't do that again without asking first, will you?"

I had not hoped for him to react positively, and was astonished when he lifted his head, straightened up a bit and answered, the hope in his voice unmistakable: "No, I will never do it again, Ms. Lubov. So you're not going to send me away right now?"

"No, Erik, I do not want you to go. Sit down, I'll fetch us a glass of milk. Now, that's much better. Erik, I am happy about you being here with me. And I want you to stay here, and meet a dear friend of mine this afternoon."

There, it was out. He nearly dropped his glass - and withdraw on his chair from the table as far as he could. Staring at me with wide yellow eyes behind his mask- why did I now realise which colour they were- he tried a weak protest: "But you said I did not have to meet people if I did not want to!"

"That's right. But I told you too, that it was inevitable that you would come to meet friends of mine, and I also have told you before that I cannot keep you hidden from my sisters and my abbess. Mrs. von Spaeth is a friendly old canoness, you will really like her. She will be here at around half past three to have tea with us. Now, I thought we could make pancakes for tea as well as for a late dinner for the two of us. Come on, boy, help me, please."

He did what I asked him to do, silent, depressed and keeping as far space between the two of us as possible. I made pancakes with bacon first and kept two thirds of the dough for sweet griddlecakes. He ate as silent as he had been before, listless and without appetite, never lifting his eyes from his plate. That manner he kept while helping me clean the kitchen and setting the table for tea in the living-room. When the bell rang and I went to the door, I was not sure whether he stayed in the sitting room or went to his own room.

Mrs. von Spaeth came in with a worried look on her face: "Are you sure I am welcome here today?" she asked dryly.

"Yes, you are welcome to me!" I said determinately.

No doubt she saw the plead in my eyes, the helplessness and exasperation, for she came in without further request and, handing me her jacket, declared: "I would be happy about a cup of black tea instead of the coffee I smell. And I am very thirsty. Be a good girl and prepare some for me, I can find my way into the parlour alone." And with that, she proceeded. That was definitely not what I had wanted, but there was no use in protesting, she already had her hand on the doorknob. My heart fell into my big toe when I went into the kitchen to do what she had told me to do. Perhaps - no, sure- had he gone to his room, and she would not even come to see him.

But when I entered the room a few minutes later, they were both sitting in the armchairs around the table, each at one side, and the boy was telling her about the kestrels - in a voice loud and clear, without an evident sign of fear or distrust.

Most of that afternoon I spent watching in awe how easy they dealt with each other. Erik had to speak up if he wanted her to hear him, and that made him automatically sit more upright and open. Generally, he seemed to see hardly any danger in her - while he watched my movements with guarded alertness.

He was not even afraid to reach across the table to pass her pancakes or tea, and though he did not reveal anything about himself and avoided carefully any theme that could lead to intimate questions, he had no repression in asking her about stories on the subject of our town, church and convent. Mrs. von Spaeth did stay until after supper, and by the time she finally said goodbye, I was burning and green with envy, and ready to quit my job as a teacher and to opt out of the convent, so incapable felt I about dealing with the situation.

Deep lost in self-pity, I sent the boy to prepare for bed.

Just like the evening before, I knocked softly and came to his bed. And again I asked: "Is everything all right, Erik?"

And, just like the night before, he answered: "Thank you," then added: "Ms. Lubov, it was a wonderful day. I have never ever had such a day before." And I could have sworn that his eyes were full of tears.

My poor feelings melted away at that sight, and again it was difficult not to take the boy into my arms. "Then let me complete the day with a prayer, okay?" He nodded, and so I did as I had announced.


	10. Announcements

Chapter 10

Announcements 

Monday morning was wonderful quiet. Nobody does love a holiday's Monday morning more than a teacher! The time I got up was the same as it was during school time, but there was no need to hurry, no headless sprint into the chaos that often accompanies a new week. Still, by six o' clock I was dressed up, as usual, and in my study at the PC. The social worker was an old acquaintance of mine and would be (or at last I hoped she would be!) delighted to find a mail from me, describing a "hypothetical case" of a neglected child, a special runaway seeking shelter in an uncommon place - and asking about the options she saw. I hoped that I knew her well enough to judge her action: she would answer me as fast as she could and as good as she could - and would give me some time to plan my actions according to her answer.

One galling job was done, now there were two more left, and one of them urgent.

There was no sound from Erik's room, so I did prepare breakfast carefully and quietly, then went to housework - imps are rare in monasteries.

By half past eight, I decided the boy could quite well get up, and knocked softly. I was surprised again that he was awake and dressed fully. "Good morning, Erik, dear, did I wake you up today?" 'Erik, dear' - why did that phrase sound so weirdly common?

"No, Ms. Lubov, you didn't. The sun was up when I awoke, and so I thought I could get up as well." His room was situated to the east. Did that mean he was awake since half past four!

Erik seemed much more comfortable today, though he kept a safe distance, he was not as tense as yesterday, and he was a bit more talkative. It seemed as if he was practising small talk. We decided to finish our tour round the church. Perhaps, I thought, that was the chance to introduce him to my abbess. And so, while he was searching for masons' ciphers, I sent a little SMS . . .

We met in the cloister, when Erik and I were on our way back to the flat. The child shot back and hit around a corner fast as can, but I called him back. It was not an elegant solution, but a straight one, and one he could not avoid. "Erik, come here. You have to meet my abbess, Ms. Copp. The sooner you two become acquainted with each other, the better it will be!"

He came with the same distrustful caution he had shown against the parson. Though he did walk upright, one could not deny that he made a somehow pitiable sight. The child did move with a grace and litheness that was adorable, but he was painful thin and small, and the broadness of the clothes he wore did nearly bury him.

By the time he had reached us he must have felt like an animal on the market, at least I would have felt like that in his place. Ms. Copp unmovable watched him approach us, her face as stern and aloof as usual. When he stood beside me, she made a single step towards him, lifted one hand and said unsmiling: "Good day, Erik. My name in Ms. Copp."

Had I awaited him to run, or at least flinch, I was surprised by his reaction. He swallowed, but then he carefully took the outstretched hand (though evidently with much difficulty!), looked up to her and answered, his voice just the tiniest bit shaky: "Good day, Ms. Copp, Madam, it is nice to meet you." That sounded exactly as recited as had his words two days ago in the kitchen, but it was a quantum leap, and I beamed with pride of him! And furthermore, she was the first person he touched willingly in my presence! That was going a lot better than I had thought!

A smile had crept into Ms. Copp's eyes and to the corners of her mouth. She let go Erik's hand and asked him: "Now, how do you like our place? Have you seen everything already?"

"No, I have not yet seen more of the monastery but the way from here to Ms. Lubov's house. But I wanted to ask her if she would perhaps show the gardens to me tomorrow morning. But I have seen most of the church. I like it very much, though Ms. Lubov says it is dark and damp and cold and run down." By now I had a head like a tomato! "But I think you are very lucky to be allowed to live here. And Ms. Lubov's flat is nice, too."

"Then you like being here, Erik? Aren't you bored inside these old walls, among old women? Without friends of your age? And without your family?"

The boy and I felt both queasy, but while I cast annoyed glances at my abbess, Erik stared at his feet and shuffled his feet. "I like being here very much. And it has not been boring a single minute, Ms. Copp, Madam."

She made a few steps to a bench at the wall and sat down, motioning us to follow, but she did invite none of us to sit with her. The trick was as old as school. But the bench was quite long, and, sitting down at the opposite side, I patted on the wide gap between us and said: "Come on, boy, sit down here, there's a lot of room left for you!"

Catching Ms. Copp's condemnatory glance, I could hardly suppress to poke my tongue out to her. If she wanted an interrogation, it would not be exclusively on her terms!

Erik hesitantly obeyed, and, after a short glance over his back, decided that it was better to have me near his back than her near his front. But still, he was careful not to touch me.

Ms. Copp went on: "But aren't you missing your family, Erik? Your mother?"

He had started to tremble again. Was that necessary? I cast her a view that clearly said: "Stop that, do not torment him, or this 'conversation' is over!"

"I have no family." The whisper was nearly lost in the cloister.

For a moment we both sat and looked at the boy, who tried to calm his breathing. The moment I decided that this farce would be ended now, he spoke again, louder this time, and looking at her directly. "There is no one who misses me, no one who cares. But you do not want me here, Madam, and I shall not bother you any longer." With that he was up and away, running.

"ERIK!" I had tried to hold him, but had not even touched him, and he did not seem to hear my shout. To run after him would have been pointless, but I had the home field advantage. His flight was not well calculated, for he had run into the wrong direction. The only open door out was now two sides away from him, and only a half from me. By the time he reached that door, it was shut and locked, and I was standing in front of it like an ancient warrior, ready to defend the most important treasure with the deployment of my live.

He stared at me desperately, panting from sorrow and agitation. "You promised you would not trap me or try to catch me! You promised me to let me go whenever I wanted! Let me out! Open that door!" He was yelling, and sobbing as well. The aura of grief around him was so thick that I wondered he could still breathe. I could feel it with my bare hands and in my stomach. Helplessly I lifted my hands towards him, but he drew back, the pain around him only growing and getting tighter.

"Let me go!"

"Erik, boy, calm down!" As if he could even hear me! "She did not mean to harm you." As if I was sure about that! "Please, Erik, stay! Don't leave me alone! I care for you, and I will miss you! I want you to stay. Erik, do you hear me?"

He was still standing there, sobbing, legs set wide (breitbeinig), hands clenched to fists . . . I turned to unlock and open that door. He was right, I had made a promise. He did not run past me. When I turned again, he had not moved at all. Only his eyes had changed behind the mask. They still were tearstained, but the wild fury, the black despair were gone. Doubt was left, and fear, and something new seemed to glow deep inside them. Maybe hope?

Tears were rolling down my cheeks by now, and I slowly knelt down on my knees, my feet did no longer support me. We stared at each other for another long moment, then he took a step towards me. Slowly, he lifted a hand, as if to touch my cheek . . . his eyes grew wide and he gulped by this effort . . . but he could not do it. Slowly, his arm sank to his side, and he dropped his head, the small light in his eyes started to extinguish . . .

Carefully, soothingly, I put a hand on his shoulder. Gently, I pulled him towards me.

He was still half an arm's length away. But now, he was looking at me again, and with such dread and disbelief, I found it not to be wise to pull him closer. Instead, I put my other hand onto his other shoulder, and stroke him gently. Looking into his eyes, I tried to smile. "Hush, my dear boy. Everything is all right. Come, we will go home now."

"Home" he echoed softly, as in a state of trance. When I rose, he seemed to gather his senses again, for when I wanted to take my hands from his shoulders, he grasped at one hand and repeated: "Home? _We_ will go _home_ now?"

The light was back. "Yes," I answered," we will go home now."

-

Ms. Copp came the same day in the late afternoon. I gestured Erik, who had come with me into the hallway, to his room, then opened the door to let her in.

We sat in the living room, and I patiently waited for her to say something. Had she already come to an decision regarding Erik? What would she say? How should I react if she was not willing to tolerate him here?

"I think," she finally spoke, "the boy is in good hands here. We shall try to convince the convent of that, too. And I will see what I can do if there should be any problem with the youth welfare agency. That's what I wanted to let you know. My interaction with children has never been pretty good. Perhaps you can tell the boy that I did not want to hurt him."

"You only did do your duty. You have to care for all the nuns here, and you have to watch over them." The voice came from the door. We were both shocked to see Erik standing there.

"Erik! One does not do eavesdropping!" I exclaimed.

He took the rebuke guiltily and turned to leave, but then looked back "I only wanted to let Ms. Copp know that I do understand her." And he was gone.

Lord, how happy I would be when this day finally was over!

But there were more evil tidings that awaited me today. I had an e-mail waiting for me from the social worker that read:

"Dear Ms. Lubov,

concerning the letter of inquiry you sent me this morning: please meet me at my office tomorrow morning at half past eight. We badly need to talk about that! If such a case had happened, there would be necessary steps to be taken at once.

Sincerely yours . . ."


	11. Necessary Steps

Chapter 11

**Necessary Steps**

Erik did not know where I went to and why when I left him early the next morning. I had not had the heart to tell him. Yesterday had been very hard for the child, though without question he had benefited from the events. Albeit he still kept a distance, he no longer shied back at every noise he heard and at every move I made. His manner was becoming more unshackled, and I did approve that very much. Perhaps he would learn to be a normal boy by and by.

To keep my manner from being somehow hostile was a job too big for me when I took the seat opposite to the social worker in that small office of hers. Suddenly I came to understand how the people felt who had to come here because someone had purported them not to handle their children correctly . . .

"Well, Ms. Lubov, that was a very interesting mail you sent me yesterday. You can envision that it made me search through all the databases I could find - I even contacted a police officer, an old friend of mine, and asked him about what he could find out. Can you imagine how great an astonishment it was when I found out that a boy, described just like that 'hypothetical' boy you wrote about, is bitterly missed? And how interesting it was to hear that the boy is missed by a mental institution, missed since spring already?

Just like you to me, I called that institution and indicated that 'perhaps' I had heard something about that boy. By the way I tried to find out what was wrong with him, however the psychiatrist I spoke to was not at all communicative on the phone. Yet I must have stroke a sensible chord in him, for he was here in the afternoon, had come all the way from somewhere in the Bavarian woods.

He tried to threaten me. Yes, he really tried, but I simply told him that if he did not put his cards on the table, I would not be able to remember anything." She laughed.

By that time, I was all in a sweat and near to a nervous breakdown! That woman sounded as if she was telling about an inspiring film she had seen on evening's TV!

Questions were burning in my mind, hardly restrained: Had she given away details about where and by whom the boy was kept? Was Erik in danger? Had that psychiatrist perhaps employed the police or something like that?

"And finally, he had to tell me quite an amazing story, Ms. Lubov. The boy was abandoned by his parents immediately after his birth, that is, nearly eight years ago. They left him in the hospital because they felt not capable to care for him." For the first time, her eyes lay on me with concern. "That child has a severe deformity afflicting nearly his whole face. The plastic surgery in the hospital he was in felt not competent enough to handle that, so they immediately sent him to a special clinic, where they kept the boy through the next four years. It seems as if nothing they tried could correct his deformities, though they made him a real research object.

Accessory, they asked for help from said psychiatrist when, sometime after his second birthday, the child started to behave like a wild animal, reacting with fierce aggression towards anybody who tried to come near him. They made him an interdisciplinary case, and finally agreed upon placing him into the psychiatry, especially as the medical examinations and interventions became less frequent."

The social worker evidently had no longer any fun with the story. She had struggled through the last sentences, and now she took a deep breath and asked: "You look like I feel, Ms. Lubov. Do you want a glass of water, too?"

I barely managed a nod. Never before had I felt so sick and woeful!

After opening a window and handing me a glass of water, she went on: "For them, the asylum, and there the locked ward, seemed the only place to keep the child, as he appeared to be completely unsociable and incompetent to deal with people at all. You have studied a lot of sociology and psychology yourself, I do not need to talk to you about primal confidence and all that. Well, the boy has had no chance to develop something like that, of course. He never had the slightest chance of developing any normal attitude or behaviour towards anybody. To shorten it: somehow, he finally managed to run away after a whole life of torment, and did not show up until recently." She paused, than added: "That is, if the boy I am talking about and the boy you are talking about are one and the same."

That, of course, did mean the end. Neither the plastic surgery nor the psychiatry would be willing to give up their 'research object' so easily. 'They' would want to take him back, so that their research could go on. And Ms. Copp had been very clear: there was no chance in lying, the only way to go was the official way.

Slowly, I lifted my head, looked into the social worker's eyes and said: "No, I don't think so."


	12. The Official Way

Chapter 12

The Official Way 

Astonishment showed on the social worker's face when I repeated assertive: "No, Mrs. Fenck, I don't think that we are talking about one and the same boy. Erik did not show any severe aggression against anybody, in the contrary, he did behave quite well towards me and my abbess and Mrs. von Spaeth. That is a clear sign of development, something all the scientists and specialists could not arouse. It can't be that we let the boy be imprisoned again under such circumstances!"

She cut me off impolitely: "But you do not deny that the boy is with you, in the convent?"

"No. I can't. I wish I could . . ."

"Mr. Knopf, the psychiatrist, will be very happy to hear that. I told him I would try to find out more about the child, and he decided to wait here for some news to come. He resides in the "Altes Forsthaus" in the neighbouring city. Please, stay seated!"

I had jumped up, making my chair topple down, at that - as I saw it - deceit, and was willing to leave immediately.

"Ms. Lubov! What do you want to do? Why are you acting like that? Don't precipitate anything until you have heard all the facts."

"What else could there be said? You betrayed me, worse, you betrayed the boy! To make him go back would mean to kill him, if not physically then at least every single rest that has been left in his soul! But we won't give up easy. We will seek sanctuary for him among us. And I want to see him who dares to try and force the child out of our shelter!" I had my hand on the doorknob by now, and was nearly shouting.

"But, Ms. Lubov, please! Sit down again, I tried to tell you that there could be a way! Mr. Knopf said something similar, of his own accord."

"He did WHAT?"

"If you just have the patience to wait a minute, I'll introduce him to you and give us the chance to find out what will be the best solution for the boy- wasn't his name Erik? Mr. Knopf said he would be here at about nine, and nine it already is. I suppose he is already waiting in the hall. Is it all right if I ask him in now?"

Reluctantly I lifted my chair from the floor and sat down again. "Do I have a choice at all?"

The man who came in did not at all look like the heartless monster I had imagined. In fact, hadn't I made my choice long before, he could quite well have attracted me, with his gentle smile and the warm handshake he gave me.

"Ms. Lubov, I am so pleased to meet you! So you really achieved to keep Erik with you of his own choice? Marvellous! I can hardly believe that he should have trusted you enough to grant you his name, and even more spend a night - no, several nights - under your roof. It is a true miracle!"

I sneered at him sarcastically: "Well, Mister, all it needed was some heartfelt warmth, and to show him that he was accepted as a human, and not seen like some research object!"

He seemed truly concerned when he answered: "I understand that you cannot have any high opinion on my colleagues and me. But I want you to try to understand us, as well. Assumedly you have not seen Erik's face yet. Well, I brought with me some pictures, from his birth up to this spring, if you want to see. The prenatal disfigurements are severe. As I do not want to bore you with medical details, which I hardly understand myself, I will shortly say that they could not be corrected medically by plastic surgery now, and can only insufficiently be concealed by means of cosmetics or epithesis.

Due to these disfigurements, the boy was not only abandoned by his relatives at birth, but also the children's homes did not feel able to take him in, and the children's welfare agency declared there would not be a possibility to find a foster care for him. So the physicians decided to keep him in the hospital, and tried hard to help him. It was not their fault that the psychic and social needs of the child were not attended sufficiently. Nor was it our fault that, when we finally took care of Erik, the traumata where already so severe that we could not reach him with our limited possibilities. A child's soul cannot heal and develop without a psychological parent really caring. And the psychiatry's locked ward by no means is the place where such an attachment figure can be found."

The man seemed exasperated by that long apology of his, but bravely went on: "Now, if I understand Mrs. Fenck correctly, you say you would like to keep the child. That, of course, is not as simple as we might wish it to be!"

"We?" I interrupted coldly.

"Yes ma'am, 'we'. Despite the fact that you obviously still think that we would desperately want to keep Erik as our research object, our first aim is the child's well-being. And if we should come to the conclusion that being with you is better for Erik than being with us, then we will of course support you."

"Wait a second, Mr. Knopf," I had to cut him off again "if you want to tell me that we are now discussing where the child may stay not only during the next few days but perhaps until he chooses to live elsewhere, and if you say that we are to discuss if the boy can stay here, then I beg you for a short break, for I want to inform my abbess and ask her to come, for after all I am a canoness and have to obey to her decisions."

Luckily I reached Ms. Copp on her mobile phone, and she promised to come immediately - and to send Mrs. von Spaeth to look after Erik, whom I did not want to be all alone all along.


End file.
